


Even When You Should

by anglophileadventures



Series: Fuckboi Newt [4]
Category: The Maze Runner Series - All Media Types, The Maze Runner Series - James Dashner
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Breakups, First Love, First Love Ending, Heartbreak, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-19
Updated: 2018-08-19
Packaged: 2019-06-29 17:00:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,574
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15733662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anglophileadventures/pseuds/anglophileadventures
Summary: Thomas runs into an old acquaintance.





	Even When You Should

_“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore.”_

_The words cut through him, confirming his worst fears. He thinks about saying “what?” but decides against it. Despite the slight crackle of static on the line, he knows exactly what the other boy said. He had known what he was going to say since he received his message._

_‘Can I call you later?’ his message had asked, in the middle of the day. The other boy rarely messaged him in the middle of the day, on a weekday, and never offered to call. He always had to call the other boy, and only on the weekend. Which, now that he thought about it, probably wasn’t a good sign._

_His trepidation mounting, he had shot back ‘What about?’ The one word answer, ‘us’, made his heart start to pound and his hands shake. He managed to type back ‘My lunch break is at 1:30 does that work’ before descending into full-on panic mode. He could already feel the tears pricking his eyes; his mouth was dry, and he had a horrible, twisting sensation in his stomach._

_It was just so out-of-the-blue. He had thought they were doing ok. Well, not exactly ok; the distance was certainly not ideal, and it had already brought out some of their existing communication issues. But he had thought they were working through it. They just had to hang on until he could come back. He knew things weren’t great, but he thought they had more time. He thought he had more time to get used to the idea of life without him, if it came to that, of never getting to hold him again or kiss him or lie around in bed with him refusing to get up until past noon._

_After enduring two hours of agony waiting for his break to arrive, trying and failing to keep the panic at bay the entire time (don’t start crying until you know for sure it’s happening), the call came. At first the other boy tried to make small talk, but he couldn’t stand it and gave only monosyllabic answers until he got to the purpose of the call. Stuttering a bit at the start, the other boy finally said it:_

_“I don’t want to be in a relationship with you anymore.”_

_He thinks about saying “what?” but decides against it. He knows exactly what the other boy said._

_His mind seems to empty completely as he feels numbness steal over him, starting at his scalp and spreading down his spine to his legs and through his toes. As he tries to think of something to say, he takes a breath. It comes out a squeak because his throat has closed up. The silence stretches out before him. Maybe it really only lasted a few seconds, but it feels much longer._

_“Why?” he finally gasps, his voice several octaves higher than usual._

_The other boy gives his reasons, saying exactly what he suspected. He wasn’t happy; it wasn’t working out with the distance; it wasn’t fair to either of them; etc._

_Before it’s even completely sunk in the sobs start choking out of him._

_“Did—did I do something wrong?” his voice is still coming out a squeak._

_The other boy rushes to assure him that he did nothing wrong. He uses his nickname, and it sounds like he’s started crying too. He keeps repeating the same reasons. It’s just too hard with the distance. He’s not happy anymore._

_He can’t stop crying, the sobs ripping out of him. His nose is running and he keeps wiping tears and snot off his face with his hands and wiping it on his trousers. The material is a cheap blend and feels rough under his fingers; for some reason this detail sticks out oddly in his mind._

_He keeps apologising, trying to explain that he wanted to stay there, he tried to stay there. He’s going to come back soon. He’s stammering and repeating himself. All he can think about is that he’s sorry, so sorry._

_The other boy keeps saying it’s not his fault, but he knows it is. It’s his fault they’re separated by an ocean, therefore it’s his fault their relationship is ending now._

_He tries to get off the phone, knowing it’s only going to get worse. He doesn’t want the other boy to have to sit there and listen to him cry._

_Finally he manages to say, “I know you said it’s not my fault but I’m still sorry. I’m sorry you’re unhappy and I’m sorry I can’t do anything about it.” He chokes out a final “I love you,” which the other boy returns. He can’t help but wonder, if he loves him, why is this happening? Then he hangs up and dissolves into tears, wishing he could just go home now and go to sleep, but he has to make it through the rest of his lunch break and another two and a half hours of work before he can fall apart._

_He still feels numb and he knows it hasn’t fully sunk in yet. The worst is yet to come._

_The entire call only lasted 3 minutes and 58 seconds. Only 3 minutes and 58 seconds for his whole world to come crashing down; 3 minutes and 58 seconds for his heart to break._

* * *

Thomas was walking out of the shop, bag in hand, when he heard an all-too-familiar voice calling his name. It was a voice he hadn’t heard in a long time, and he had thought to never hear again.

“Thomas?”

His head whipped around, and he caught sight of the owner of the voice.

Aris.

_Fuck._

* * *

With shaking fingers, he selected Brenda’s name and hit the “call” button.

She answered on the fourth ring. “Hey babe, what’s up?” she said cheerfully.

He could barely choke out the words. “He broke up with me,” he sobbed, but his throat closed around the words, mangling them until they were unintelligible.

Brenda caught his tone, though. And the sound of his sobs. “What’s wrong? What happened?” she asked, her voice immediately shifting to concerned and mildly panicked.

He tried again, screwing his face up in pain. The worst part was saying his name. “Aris broke up with me.” He dissolved into tears once again.

“Oh, Thomas, I’m so sorry,” she said. He could hear the sympathy in her voice, and it made him sob even harder. “That’s really shit. Did it happen just now?”

“Yes,” Thomas answered, hiccuping. “And I’m still at work. I just want to go home.”

“Shit, I forgot about the time difference,” Brenda said. “I can’t believe he did that to you while you’re at work, that’s terrible.”

“He probably forgot too.” Thomas can’t believe that even now, after Aris broke his heart, he’s still defending him.

“Did he say why?” Brenda asked.

“He said he wasn’t happy anymore, that he hadn’t been happy for a while, and it was too hard with the distance.”

“But you’re coming back so soon!” Brenda protested. “You were only away for the summer, what the fuck is his problem? Aren’t you coming back in like two weeks? He seriously couldn’t wait that long? What a dick.”

“Brenda,” Thomas whined. He knew she was only trying to help, but he wasn’t ready to hear Aris be insulted yet. He was still ridiculously, hopelessly in love with him. Obviously. He had only been dumped five minutes ago.

“What? He is,” Brenda said innocently.

Thomas didn’t say anything.

“I wish I could come over,” Brenda continued after a few seconds. “Are you gonna be ok?”

“Not really,” Thomas answered unhappily. “But I’ll live. Anyway, my break’s almost over, I have to get back to work.”

“Okay,” Brenda said. “Call me if you need anything. And call me when you get home. I hate that you’re having to go through this alone.”

“Okay,” Thomas agreed. “Bye. Talk to you later.”

“Talk to you later.”

* * *

Thomas had not been prepared in the slightest to see Aris, not today, not ever. He’d had no idea Aris was even living in London—or maybe he was just visiting? Immediately his stomach started churning, his palms sweating, hands shaking. He was uncomfortably aware of his heart beating in his chest. His legs felt weak, and he was somehow simultaneously too hot and too cold.

_Still? After everything?_

Apparently so.

“Hi,” Thomas responded awkwardly. He wondered if his panic was written all over his face.

Probably.

* * *

It had only been one day, but Thomas was determined to win Aris back. He had a plan. Well, he had part of a plan.

It didn’t make any sense. He and Aris were perfect together. He just had to convince Aris of that, make him change his mind about breaking up with Thomas. Make him see reason.

Thomas had made a list of all the things he wanted to say to Aris, all the reasons they shouldn’t break up. He was going to stay calm and reasonable, and once he laid everything out, Aris would see that there was no reason they had to break up. They still loved each other. They could make it work.

Of course, it all went out the window as soon as he heard Aris’s voice on the other end of the line, and he ended up sobbing and pleading, begging Aris to take him back, to give him another chance. He promised to change, to do better, promised anything if Aris would just please take him back. It would have been humiliating, but his dignity had gone out the window with his resolve to stay calm.

Aris flatly refused. He seemed upset. Thomas couldn’t understand it; if he still loved Thomas, if hearing Thomas be so broken hearted upset him so much, then why was he still going through with it? Why couldn’t they try again, try harder this time, communicate more?

Why wasn’t he willing to fight for Thomas? For their relationship? Why was he giving up so easily?

Was it because Thomas wasn’t worth fighting for?

* * *

“I can’t believe we’ve just run into each other!” Aris exclaimed. “In London, out of millions of people, I just happen to see you!”

“Yeah, it’s crazy,” Thomas answered. _Just my fucking luck._

“Are you on your way somewhere, or do you have a bit of time? Would you like to catch up, maybe get a coffee or something?”

He knew he should say no. He had nothing to say to Aris. He didn’t want to “catch up”. He had absolutely no desire to “get a coffee”.

But still, he couldn’t find it within himself to refuse. Maybe some part of him was curious what Aris would say, how he would act. Would he acknowledge, even tacitly, the emotional suffering he had caused Thomas, or would he try to pretend everything was fine, and they were simply friends who had drifted apart? Or maybe Thomas wanted the opportunity to deliver one of his righteously angry speeches that he’d been rehearsing in his head since Aris dumped him, just in case he ever got the chance. Or maybe he wanted to show Aris that he was doing just fine without him and had moved on completely. (And Thomas was very happy with Newt, he truly was. He wouldn’t change what had happened for anything, because it had meant he ended up with the person he was supposed to be with. But did anyone ever really get completely over their first love?)

He checked his watch. “Yeah, I have a little time,” he said. “We can get coffee or something if you want.”

“Good!” Aris said, looking pleased.

* * *

It had been a few days now, and Thomas had settled into a daily stalking routine. First he looked at Aris’s Twitter feed, caught up on all his tweets and replies, then he checked Facebook to see if Aris had made any posts there. He was aware that it was creepy and unhealthy, but he didn’t care. And besides, there was no one here to stop him.

He went onto Facebook. He searched for Aris, went to his profile. There weren’t any new posts, so he started scrolling through his pictures. Especially the ones since Thomas had gone home for the summer (when they were still technically together, but evidently Aris had been planning Thomas’s devastation).

Thomas told himself he wouldn’t look for long. Ten minutes, tops. And he wouldn’t scroll back past this year.

There was just something nagging at him. Something he couldn’t let go. Something about the way Aris had refused to even consider giving their relationship another chance; something about the tone of his voice when he’d answered “no” to Thomas’s tearful pleading. Maybe it was nothing, but it felt like something to Thomas. It felt like there was more going on than the simple explanation given by Aris that he was unhappy with the relationship, and had been for some time. (If he had been unhappy for so long, why hadn’t he said anything before, given Thomas a chance to fix things before it had gotten to the point of ending the relationship?)

He told himself he was being paranoid, but still the question whispered in the back of his mind, a constant refrain: _Was there someone else?_

There were photos of Aris hanging out with friends, some mutual and some Thomas didn’t know, goofing around, normal activities for people in their late teens. Thomas examined every one with the intensity of an FBI investigator. Was Aris leaning a little more than usual into that boy? Was his leg brushing another boy’s perhaps a little more than necessary? What were his hands doing, under the table and out of sight?

He knew it wasn’t healthy, that he was becoming obsessive and paranoid and neurotic. But he could sooner have flown through the air like a bird than he could have torn himself away.

* * *

They found the closest cafe, ordered drinks (Thomas ordered a cappuccino even though it was the afternoon, just because Aris had once told him that in Italy cappuccinos were only breakfast drinks), chose a table and sat down.

Thomas wasn’t sure what he had expected, but he felt surprisingly… okay. Beyond the initial shock of seeing Aris for the first time in so long, he actually felt quite calm. He wasn’t even a little bit compelled to deliver one of his righteously angry speeches. When he had imagined this meeting happening (the possibility had always been in the back of his mind, waiting to strike when he was most vulnerable), it had always ended with accusations, shouting and crying. But now, that all seemed so dramatic and unnecessary (which had been most of the point of those fantasies, after all).

He certainly didn’t feel like making a scene in the cafe, and now that Aris was sitting in front of him, acting pleasant and happy to see him, Thomas found himself remembering all the good parts. How Aris had always been unceasingly good to him. How he had been the perfect first boyfriend, how they had always had fun together. How Aris hadn’t really done anything wrong, besides fall out of love with Thomas before Thomas had fallen out of love with him, which sucked but wasn’t exactly immoral.

Things that he had long kept buried were now floating to the surface, and he suddenly remembered exactly how awful he had felt when it ended, though it wasn’t as fresh as it was back then. He wondered if those feelings would ever go away entirely.

Probably not.

* * *

He found something, but it wasn’t at all what he was expecting.

It was a girl. Rachel.

She kept turning up in the photos, sitting next to Aris, standing near him, her hand resting on his arm. Was it Thomas’s imagination, or was she being just a bit too familiar?

Thomas wracked his brain, trying to remember if Aris had ever mentioned liking girls. How had it never come up? Had Aris deliberately kept it from him?

There was one picture in particular that convinced Thomas it wasn’t his imagination. On the surface, it seemed perfectly casual and harmless; it was only a selfie, taken by Aris, of the two of them (only the two of them). But Thomas thought he detected in Aris’s expression something resembling a hopeful excitement, the promise of the future.

Maybe Thomas was reading too much into it, but there was something about this picture that made his heart drop like a stone, and suddenly he remembered back to when he and Aris had first met, the second time they had ever hung out together in a group of friends, and Aris had taken a strikingly similar selfie with him. And later, how Aris had told him how desperately he had wanted a selfie with the cute new American student, how nervous he had been but how he had tried to act as casual as possible. How that picture had been just a picture, but had also signified so much more, about Aris’s intentions, about the future of their relationship.

Thomas couldn’t help but wonder if this was the same kind of selfie with Rachel.

* * *

They kept the conversation to light, safe topics. It was mainly long, awkward silences punctuated by short bursts of innocuous small talk.

Thomas still remembered when their silences hadn’t been awkward at all.

“It’s good to see you,” Aris said, with a hint of warmth in his voice, when they first sat down.

Thomas nodded noncommittally, keeping his eyes firmly on the table. It was easier when he didn’t look at Aris directly.

“So are you living in London now?”

“Yep. For…” He calculated quickly in his head. “It’ll be two years in June.”

“So you moved here right after graduation, then?”

“Yeah. It was either get a job right away or go home, so…”

“Oh yeah, your visa.”

A long pause. Thomas stared at his coffee like it was the most interesting thing he had ever seen.

“Do you live here, too?” he finally asked.

“No, I’m just here for the weekend.” He didn’t elaborate, and Thomas wondered if it had something to do with Rachel. Maybe she had family here.

* * *

It was three weeks to the day after Aris had dumped him. Thomas was back in the UK, ready to start his second year of university, and back with his support system of friends, which had helped immeasurably. Brenda usually did a good job of keeping Thomas from acting on his unhealthiest desires (either she or Minho took charge of his phone most nights, especially the nights Thomas had been drinking), but she couldn’t babysit him 24/7.

Thomas was opening his Twitter app for his daily stalking session. It opened up, and the very first thing he saw was a picture, posted by Rachel and retweeted by Aris. (Thomas wasn’t following Rachel, but he did check every day to see what she posted. Not that he needed to check in this case, since Aris had retweeted it, basically ensuring that Thomas would see it, though whether purposefully or not, he couldn’t guess.)

It was a picture of Aris, attempting to cook some food at his flat. The caption was a joke about his ineptitude in the kitchen. Rachel wasn’t in the picture, but had clearly taken it. From inside Aris’s flat. Where they appeared to be alone. Having a romantic home-cooked meal.

 _He never cooked for me,_ Thomas thought numbly. And then the full significance of the picture hit him. They were at Aris’s flat, alone, having a romantic evening. It could not have more clearly been a date.

Aris was on a date with _her_.

Thomas fell apart.

Three weeks. That was all it had taken Aris to get over him and start dating someone new. That was all their ten month relationship had meant to him. Three weeks, if not less. After all, this was just the first time they had posted on social media; who knew when they had actually started. Maybe the day after Aris had dumped him. Maybe he hadn’t even waited 24 hours before jumping into bed with someone else.

Or maybe they had started before Aris had dumped him.

No. Aris was a Nice Guy. Aris would never have cheated.

But that didn’t mean he wouldn’t dump Thomas to avoid cheating on him.

Now everything made sense. How sudden it had seemed, how Thomas hadn’t seen it coming. Because there hadn’t really been a warning, Aris had unexpectedly realised he had feelings for someone else and dumped Thomas as soon as it looked like things might be going somewhere. Aris’s refusal to give their relationship a chance, despite Thomas’s pleading; he couldn’t stay with Thomas, because he’d already made up his mind to be with this other person, and he didn’t want to be unfaithful.

Which, surely, that was better? Wasn’t it better for Aris to break up with Thomas than to stay with him and cheat on him?

Then why did he still feel like shit?

Three weeks, and Thomas was nothing more to Aris than some photos on his Facebook timeline and a handful of mementos.

Thomas fell apart.

* * *

“So, how’s work? What job did you end up getting?” Aris asked after another protracted silence.

As Thomas told him about his job, the mood relaxed a little, and at a few points Thomas found himself genuinely smiling, and even once, laughing. True, it was more tense than normal, but it was far better than he had expected. If he ignored all the unspoken things between them, hanging heavy in the air, nearly palpable, it was almost like old times. Just the two of them, drinking coffee together, talking and laughing.

* * *

Brenda and Minho were at his flat within the hour, armed with ice cream and a stack of DVDs. Thomas answered the door in his undershirt and boxers, his eyes red and puffy from crying, too heartsick to even care how pathetic he looked. He knew he was looking particularly dishevelled by their reactions.

“Oh, Thomas,” Brenda said, pity written all over her face. Thomas didn’t care. He wanted them to feel sorry for him. He was certainly feeling sorry for himself.

Brenda gave him a hug, and Thomas found the human contact helped more than he had anticipated. Minho’s hug was a bit stiffer and less warm than Brenda’s, but Thomas could tell by the sorrow in his eyes and the downturned edges of his mouth that he felt just as much for Thomas as Brenda did.

“We brought your three favourite flavours of Ben & Jerry’s,” Brenda said. “And you can pick any film you want. We brought a variety, so you can go the sappy rom-com route, or the violent slasher route. Whatever you want.”

“I want _Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind_ ,” Thomas said firmly.

“See? I told you,” Minho said triumphantly to Brenda. “I knew that’s what he would want. I was right and you were wrong. Who’s Thomas’s best friend now?”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea for you right now?” Brenda persisted, ignoring Minho. “Shouldn’t you watch something, I don’t know, a little less depressing?”

“It ends on a hopeful note,” Minho said.

“Does it?” Brenda argued. “Or are they just dooming themselves to repeat all the same mistakes in a relationship that the know for a fact won’t work because it’s already failed?”

“I think you’re completely missing the moral of the story,” Thomas interjected. “It’s about seeing people for who they are instead of who you want them to be, and not forgetting all the good parts of a relationship just because it ended badly. Besides, people break up and get back together. It’s a thing that happens. You of all people should know that.”

Brenda and Minho exchanged a look. “Minho and I got back together after a lot of serious heart-to-hearts and promises we both made about concrete steps to work harder on our relationship,” Brenda said. “I’m not saying that can’t happen with you and Aris, but…” she trailed off helplessly, glancing at Minho for support, who shrugged. “Listen, I know this probably isn’t what you want to hear right now, but sometimes the best thing you can do after a relationship ends is to just… move on. It doesn’t look like Aris wants to get back together, and you’re only going to make things harder on yourself if you’re living in the past, refusing to let go.”

Thomas looked down at his hands, which were fidgeting nervously in his lap. He felt that Brenda was being very unfair. Why should she and Minho get to be the one exception, and Thomas had to be alone and miserable? Why couldn’t Aris wake up one day and realise he loved Thomas more than he loved this other person, and that he’d made a huge mistake in breaking up with him? It was all well and good for her to preach to him about moving on, when her story had ended in a happily ever after.

“I’m trying,” he whispered sadly, still looking down.

“Just be careful,” Brenda cautioned him. “You sort of have this problem where you can’t walk away from people. Even when you should.”

Thomas didn’t say anything. His eyes filled with tears, and he blinked furiously, trying to keep them from spilling over.

Minho put a supportive hand on his shoulder. “He needs to grieve,” he told Brenda, a hint of pleading in his voice. “This is part of the process. Let him watch the stupid film and be sad.”

At last Brenda relented, and Thomas threw a grateful look at Minho.

He cried most of the way through it, of course.

* * *

Finally, Thomas found the courage to ask what he really wanted to ask.

“So, how’s Rachel?”

Aris at least had the good grace to look mildly embarrassed. “She’s good,” he answered, looking briefly down at his hands. “We’re good.”

“I’m glad,” Thomas said, and to his surprise, it wasn’t a lie. He actually, truly just wanted Aris to be happy. As far away from himself as possible, preferably, but happy nonetheless. Maybe this meant he was growing.

* * *

The problem was that he hadn’t just lost a boyfriend, he’d lost a whole possible future.

They’d had plans. Thomas was supposed to spend Christmas with Aris and his family. He’d been looking forward to being part of a family at Christmas who wouldn’t hate him for who he was, for having a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend. Thomas had been planning to make Aris watch all his favourite Christmas movies. They were going to make hot chocolate and cuddle on the sofa under a blanket, watching _It’s a Wonderful Life_ and _Love, Actually_.

They were supposed to go to the American diner-style restaurant and get waffles. They had discussed going to the new, fancy Italian restaurant for their one year anniversary, getting dressed up and making a whole night of it. Thomas had already bought a suit.

He had dreamed of them travelling together. Of going with Aris to the beach and lying next to him on the sand, feeling Aris’s skin on his as the warm sun dried the seawater off them, leaving them damp and vaguely salty. Thomas had dreamed of moving in with Aris, of them adopting a cat together. Of building a life together.

And now all of that was gone.

He knew it was probably silly of him, that they hadn’t been dating that long, really. But that kind of thing could and did happen; it wasn’t uncommon for people to meet their first year of uni, start dating, and several years later to end up getting married. It happened. So why couldn’t it happen to Thomas?

Because apparently he didn’t deserve love.

Maybe his parents were right. Maybe God was punishing him. Maybe—

* * *

Another long pause.

“So, um, are you… are you seeing anyone?” Aris eventually asked.

Thomas smiled, a broad, genuine smile. “I am, yeah,” he answered. Thomas showed Aris his lockscreen background, which was a photo of Thomas kissing Newt’s cheek while Newt scrunched up his face adorably. It was a completely cheesy and cliche and unoriginal photo. It was also Thomas’s favourite photo.

“His name is Newt,” Thomas said. “We live together, actually. Here in London.”

“That’s good. I’m really happy for you,” Aris said, and his tone was earnest and even a touch relieved. Thomas knew that two years ago he would have been irritated and angered by Aris’s tone, and by any indication that he thought he was off the hook for permanently emotionally traumatising Thomas, but now it made him feel nothing. It truly didn’t matter anymore.

He felt strangely peaceful.

* * *

He muted Aris on Twitter, unfollowed him on Facebook. (Not unfriended, never unfriended. There could still come a day when Aris changed his mind, and Thomas didn’t want to do anything that couldn’t be undone.)

He didn’t bottle up his feelings. Bottling was for amateurs; he put his in a box. Put everything to do with Aris in a big, sturdy, cardboard box, put a lid on the box, and taped it down. Taped it all the way around, on every side, until the box was covered in tape and Aris hadn’t a chance in hell of getting out again.

Sometimes he did manage to sneak out though, when Thomas wasn’t paying attention, and Thomas would find himself imagining Aris with _her_ , what they might be doing together. If he used on _her_ the same moves he used to use on Thomas. All those little, unique things that Thomas had thought were reserved specially for him.

When he realised Aris had escaped his box, he had to put him back inside, quickly, and put the lid on again, and tape it down. If he didn’t stop himself quickly enough, it would be too late, and his thoughts would spiral out of control, and he would end up sobbing into his pillow for hours. Most of the time he managed to keep it under control, but it required constant vigilance (Thomas imagined Mad-Eye Moody jumping out at him, screaming “CONSTANT VIGILANCE!” whenever his thoughts strayed to a place they shouldn’t be).

When he was drunk, it was a lot easier for his feelings to sneak out of their box. But he liked being drunk, because nothing seemed to matter as much under the influence of alcohol. So he got drunk, and he distracted himself constantly, with elaborate hijinks that grew increasingly more ridiculous.

“Do you dare me to climb that wall?” he would ask. Or, “Do you dare me to steal this?”

“Do you dare me to jump into the creek?”

“Do you dare me to run naked through the street?”

“Do you dare me to play chicken with this car?”

Sometimes he wondered if he didn’t secretly want some sort of disaster to befall him.

* * *

They finished their coffee. “I’d better be heading home,” Thomas said, checking the time. “Don’t want to get caught in the evening rush.”

“Yeah, I need to get going too,” Aris said, standing up quickly. “It was really nice to see you, though. I’m glad we got to do this.”

“Yeah, me too,” Thomas said, surprising himself with his sincerity.

They parted ways as abruptly as they had met, and Thomas made the journey home in a daze, hardly aware of where he was or anything happening around him.

When he got home, Newt was sitting on the sofa, waiting for him. Newt’s work was a lot closer to their flat, so he almost always got home first. One of the best parts of Thomas’s day was walking in and seeing him there in their flat. In their home.

“Hey, Tommy,” Newt greeted him happily, standing up. “How was work? Did you get the gift for Ben and Gally?”

“Yeah, I got it,” Thomas answered, holding up the shopping bag. “Work was crazy. I’ll tell you about it over dinner.”

“Oh, speaking of, what do you want tonight?” Newt asked brightly. “I was thinking of ordering in, maybe that Thai place we both like?”

“That sounds perfect,” Thomas said, stepping forward, letting the shopping bag drop to the floor and wrapping his arms around Newt’s waist. He pulled him in tight, clinging to him with his entire body, his face pressed into the side of Newt’s neck, and although he could tell Newt was surprised, he didn’t hesitate to return the embrace.

They pulled apart slightly, arms still wrapped around each other. “Everything okay?” Newt asked softly, his eyes searching Thomas’s.

“I love you,” Thomas said, his voice quiet but fervent. “So, so much.” Before Newt could answer, Thomas kissed him, slow and passionate. His hands crept up to Newt’s face, one hand cupping his cheek and the other sliding around to the back of his neck, his touch ardent.

The kiss was an unspoken promise, and into it Thomas poured all of his love, all his reassurance, all his appreciation and gratefulness and dedication. He promised himself never to take Newt for granted, never to forget how Newt had been there for him and stood by him through everything the past two years.

When the kiss ended, Thomas rested his forehead against Newt’s, breathing him in, and Newt spoke.

“I love you, too.”


End file.
